


profunda amicitia

by weatheredlaw



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Childhood Friends, Eventual Romance, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-02 21:16:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21168005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: Two boys meet on a train. After that, everything changes.or: a harry potter au





	profunda amicitia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Khiroptera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khiroptera/gifts), [leaveanote](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leaveanote/gifts).

> hi tumblr user khiroptera made a post about harry potter and then i wrote this today so here we are.

Aziraphale _loved_ trains. Trains, in his opinion, were the _most_ sophisticated form of travel. You could start and finish a book, enjoy a decent meal, and indulge in more than a few sweets. It had been his _dream_ as a boy, watching his older brothers and sisters trot off to Hogwarts to ride the train in with them. _Just for a bit, mother. Please just for a little ways._

“Have patience,” she always said, and Aziraphale would pout all the way back home.

And so, for ten long, _miserable_ years, he waited. One by one, his siblings boarded the train and went off to begin their studies. The schooling bit really wasn’t even what interested Aziraphale. Certainly he would be excited to learn magic and he had heard stories about the beautiful, _mysterious_ Hogwarts library — but what Aziraphale desperately wanted was to _ride the train_.

He was _so_ excited, he wasn’t even listening to Gabriel on the way to King’s Cross. _Gabriel _was head boy of Gryffindor, and new an awful lot, apparently, about the Sorting Hat. In fact, _all_ of Aziraphale’s siblings were in Gryffindor, save for Uriel who had been proudly sorted into Ravenclaw three years ago. This was _absolutely_ fine, Gabriel had assured everyone at Christmas that year. Ravenclaws were a proud lot, and Uriel was an excellent fit.

“You just remember,” Gabriel was saying as their mother parked the car. “Think _very hard_ about Gryffindor when the hat’s on your head.”

“Or Ravenclaw,” Uriel said.

Gabriel frowned at her. “Yes, of course, that’s a perfectly acceptable alternative. But _Gryffindor_,” he insisted. “I won’t be able to talk to you on the train, I’ll be sitting with the other head boys and girls—”

“Oh!” Michael leaned forward. “Are you _head boy_, Gabriel? Uriel, did you _know?_”

“No,” Uriel said dryly, “I didn’t. That’s not the thing you’ve been dropping into conversation _all summer_, is it, Gabriel?”

Gabriel turned around in the front seat and folded his arms over his chest, scowling out the window. Aziraphale glanced at Michael who grinned at him.

Aziraphale sighed. The bickering was _boring._ What he wanted was to get to King’s Cross, to finally cross that barrier and board the Hogwarts Express himself. He didn’t really care which house he was sorted in, though common sense and _years_ of his brother’s warnings and _pestering_ told him that he would probably _not_ enjoy being in Slytherin.

“Did you hear me, Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale sighed. “_Yes_, Gabriel.”

Gabriel nodded and they unloaded from the car to grab their trunks. Aziraphale’s trunk was a hand-me-down from Gabriel’s first year, and his mother had done a very good job of scouring Gabriel’s name _off_ and stenciling Aziraphale’s name in its place. Gabriel had received a brand _new_ trunk in honor of his head boy position. He’d been absolutely insufferable, all summer long.

Crossing the barrier was no trouble for Aziraphale who had been trailing after his siblings for several years now, clinging to his mother’s hand. He broke through to the other side and took a great breath of _relief._ Finally, he thought, after all these years — there was his _train._

It looked as beautiful as ever, with its shining gold lettering across the side and its beautiful grey steam billowing into the air. Aziraphale’s mother put a hand on his shoulder and smiled.

“See?” she said softly. “_Patience,_ love.”

“Yes. Yes, I see.”

_Oh_, he was in love. What a _train._ What a _journey!_ And now, faced suddenly with the prospect of actually making his way to Hogwarts, going to that first feast — he was _finally_ excited about the next seven years.

And — _completely petrified._

Michael and Uriel were already kissing their mother goodbye. Gabriel was standing with the head boy of Ravenclaw, separate from all of them, cool and aloof. Their cousin Sandalphon was a Gryffindor prefect and was leaning against the brick pillar alongside them. Aziraphale stood very still, gripping his trolley until his knuckles turned _white._

“Nervous?” his mother asked.

His mouth was very dry. “...Yes.”

“That’s understandable. I was quite nervous when I went the first time. Don’t let what Gabriel said scare you. Whatever house you’re sorted into, whatever you _do_, I will be proud of you.”

Aziraphale glanced at her. “...You will?”

“Yes.”

“Even if I’m in Slytherin?”

“Even if you’re in Slytherin.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Right. Okay.” He let her lean down and kiss his forehead.

“You’ve got your lunch then?” He nodded. “And your jumper?” He nodded again. “You look very handsome in your new robes, by the way, so don’t fret about that.”

Aziraphale sighed. “What if I hate it?”

His mother tipped her head to the side. “Why ever would you?”

“I don’t know! I’ve got no friends, and if I wind up in _Slytherin_ then Gabriel will _never_ talk to me again.”

“Stop that,” his mother said, and cupped his cheek. “You’re going to be very happy. And if you’re not? You come home. And we’ll try again next year.”

That didn’t seem very likely to Aziraphale, but he nodded anyway.

“Now go on,” she said. “No sense in putting it off any longer.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath and made his way toward the train. He got his trunk all loaded up and began to board after a group of other first years. They seemed to be good friends already, and Aziraphale wasn’t really sure where to sit. Michael and Uriel had their own cabin with some friends, and Gabriel was long gone, sat up front with the head boys and girls. Aziraphale glanced into the different cabins as he clutched his bag of food and books to his chest, finally spotting an empty one and sitting down in it quickly.

_It’s just a train ride. The one you’ve been waiting for. You’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. It’s only school. It’s only school. It’s only — _

“Uh, excuse me. Are you saving that seat?”

Aziraphale looked up.

A tall, gangly, ginger boy was pointing to the spot opposite Aziraphale. He had shoulder length hair pulled back into a small ponytail, and his clothes hung off in him odd spots, marking them as decidedly used or passed down. He had a patched leather bag that he was holding in front of himself rather expectantly and he looked like a strong wind might blow him over.

“Oh! Oh, no,” Aziraphale said quickly. “Not saved. I’m, um. I’m alone. In here.”

The boy nodded and stepped into the cabin, tossing his bag into the seat and collapsing by the window. He didn’t introduce himself, so Aziraphale stuck out a hand.

“I’m Aziraphale,” he said.

The boy raised a brow. He seemed very _cool._ “Crowley. Anthony Crowley.” He shook Aziraphale’s hand. “First year, too, then?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, sighing and releasing all the tension in his stomach. “I’m terribly nervous, aren’t you?”

“Nah. Just school.”

“Well, _yes_. Yes, I suppose that’s right.” Aziraphale toyed with the hem of his robes. He’d debated wearing his regular clothes, like Crowley. He looked rather out of place on the train in his black jumper and patched jeans, but after a few minutes he dug into his bag and pulled out his robes. They looked as used as his other clothes did, but he didn’t seem to mind. “Um, are you excited then?”

“Excited to be somewhere else,” Crowley said.

“Oh. Boring summer?”

“You could say that.” Crowley finished fixing his robes and sighed. “I live with my uncle, he’s just never really around.”

“Ah. That’s too bad.”

Crowley shrugged. “Not really. When he’s home he’s a nightmare, so I’m not disappointed to be leaving. Dropped me off outside King’s Cross and didn’t say goodbye.” He sniffed. Aziraphale got the impression the entire thing bothered him far more than he let on, and didn’t press the issue. “So what house are you hoping for?”

Aziraphale sighed. “I don’t _know._ I mean, most of my whole family’s in Gryffindor. Gabriel will be terribly displeased if I’m not. Uriel’s in Ravenclaw, which wouldn’t be _so_ bad...what about you?”

“My uncle was in Slytherin,” Crowley said. “He doesn’t have expectations, really, but I assume that’s where I’ll end up, too.” Aziraphale nodded. “I know what people say about Slytherin, but it’s just colors, right? I mean, other things matter more don’t they? Classes and stuff.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, suddenly relieved. It was exactly what he’d been thinking, and had struggled to voice aloud in the car. “_Yes_,” he said again. “I’m so glad you _said_ that. I mean, the coursework is much more important, and we’ll be doing so many things, I don’t know if houses will really matter.”

For the first time since Aziraphale had met him, Crowley smiled. “I like you,” Crowley said, and reached into his bag for a handful of sickles and galleons. “Want something from to trolley, when it comes around?” he asked, and bought Aziraphale three pumpkin pasties once it did.

* * *

“And then that’s _all_ he talked about! All summer!”

Crowley threw his head back and _laughed._ “What a git,” he said. “Does he think it really matters?”

“Oh, it’s _terribly_ important for Gabriel. He wants to work for the Ministry of Magic you see.”

Crowley snorted. “My uncle works for the Ministry. For the Minister, actually.”

“_Does he?_”

He waved a hand. “S’not that important. He wanted to be an Auror, but couldn’t pass exams. S’what my Aunt Lilith says, anyway. Always giving him a hard time about that. I mean, he does very cool things, I guess, but he doesn’t tell _me_ about them.”

“Maybe they’re _secret_,” Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley snorted. “Yeah, secretly _boring._” He leaned back again and sighed.

Aziraphale pressed his lips together. He was no longer nervous, and he seemed to have made his first _friend._ He’d have to write to mother immediately, she’d told him several times over the summer he’d meet his very best friends at Hogwarts and he hadn’t believed her at all. Of course she was right, she was _always_ right —

“I think we’re slowing down,” Crowley said, and looked out the window. “Yeah! Yeah, _look!_” He pointed. “Hogsmeade Station.”

“Now look who’s excited,” Aziraphale teased, and Crowley gave him a shove.

“Come off it,” he muttered, and started picking up his things.

* * *

They surrendered their bags to someone in black robes by the boats. An older gentleman with a lantern shouted at them to hurry along and get in. Crowley scrambled in after Aziraphale and clung tightly to the sides. Aziraphale had heard about this and was excited, but Crowley seemed decidedly put off.

“Can’t swim,” he muttered, when Aziraphale asked. He _flinched_ as the boats took off and made their way to the castle.

It was a more than _imposing_ structure. Aziraphale had always heard about it from his siblings, but nothing really prepared him for the enormity of Hogwarts Castle, coming toward them as the boats inched closer and closer. Behind Aziraphale, Crowley seemed to relax, and he put a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder and said softly, “S’like they don’t want you escaping.”

“That’s _silly._”

“My uncle says there’s a mad _willow_ on the grounds. Killed a student once.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Crowley shrugged. “Just what he said.”

Aziraphale looked back at the castle. _Well_, he thought. _That’s unsettling._

Crowley seemed to sense his unease and added, “But my uncle’s full of it, you know.”

“Oh. _Oh_, alright.” Aziraphale looked over his shoulder and found Crowley grinning at him.

It certainly made him feel better.

* * *

There were a lot more first years than Aziraphale thought there’d be, but the sorting process was, honestly, _fascinating._ He could have watched it go on for days.

The hat performed a _song_ which was rather fascinating. Aziraphale had never been told anything about that. The other students in the Great Hall seemed rather disinterested anyway — they’d probably heard it before.

“Funny old thing, isn’t it?” Crowley asked.

“Certainly wasn’t expecting it.”

“My uncle says it’s the same idea every year.”

“No wonder everyone looks _bored_.” Crowley made a noise and stood up straight again.

Aziraphale watched as Professor Nutter began reading names from a long list. She was a pleasant looking woman and her hat had a sort of jaunty _tilt_ to it. She was exactly what you might have thought of when you thought, _witch._

After a handful of students had been sorted, Professor Nutter looked down her list and said, “_Crowley, Anthony!_”

Crowley _froze_ next to Aziraphale. “Go on!” Aziraphale said, and urged him forward. Crowley looked rather pale. Considering how confident he’d been, how little he seemed to care about the whole thing, this process was _obviously_ more important than he’d let on. Aziraphale gave him an encouraging smile as he made his way up onto the stage and sat on the wooden stool. Professor Nutter lowered the hat onto his head, and he eyes sank below the rim.

It was the longest sorting of the evening so far. Aziraphale began to wonder if they were going to pull it off Crowley’s head and have him maybe wait until everyone else was finished. As soon as he thought that, however, the stitch-edged mouth of the hat opened wide, and it shouted, “_SLYTHERIN!_” Nutter pulled the hat from Crowley’s head and Crowley, looking shell-shocked, made his way to the Slytherin table, where they cheered his arrival.

Aziraphale felt a surge of disappointment. He had _hoped_ he and Crowley might be in the same house. Selfish as it was, Aziraphale didn’t _want _to be sorted in Slytherin, just to have a friend. He’d either make new ones, or he and Crowley would be friends anyway, but that would be very hard if they lived in separate dormitories and had different schedules. Oh, this was _awful_, this wasn’t what he’d wanted at all, he’d finally met a friend and now —

“_Fell, Aziraphale!_”

Aziraphale looked up. _Oh._ That was _him!_ He looked around numbly and swallowed, moving through the other first years and making his way toward the stage. As he turned to face the tables, he saw Gabriel leaning forward with the other Gryffindors expectantly. Uriel and Michale had both finally taken an interest, and, from the Slytherin table, Crowley gave a weak little wave and an encouraging smile.

_It’s just a house,_ Aziraphale thought. _It’s just color._ He took a deep breath and watched as the Great Hall disappeared.

_Now,_ a voice drawled in his ear, _what do we have here?_

Aziraphale sighed. _Gabriel said to think Gryffindor thoughts. Think Gryffindor, think **Gryffindor**_ — _oh. Oh, something smells wonderful. Something smells delightful, I think it’s puff pastry. Filled with something? Meat, perhaps? Well that’s something to look forward to, once this is over. Is it alright for the houses to sit together? Perhaps I could sit with Crowley, he looks rather out of place at the Slytherin table, maybe he’d — _

“_HUFFLEPUFF!_” the hat shouted, and Professor Nutter whipped the hat from Aziraphale’s head.

“Wait—” _Wait_. He’d done it wrong, he’d gotten _distracted!_ He was supposed to think _Gryffindor_ thoughts, he’d never even _thought_ about _Hufflepuff!_ What was happening? One of the tables was cheering for him, and Aziraphale was being point toward them. His feet led the way, and when he looked up he saw Gabriel’s completely bewildered expression, while Michael _rolled_ with laughter next to him.

Was this some kind of joke? Was he supposed to do something else? Was he —

“Welcome to Hufflepuff!” a few students at his table said, clapping him on the back.

“Yeah, welcome!” A round faced boy stuck out a hand. “Arthur Young,” he said. “You’re our first one!”

“Oh. Oh, I hadn’t...hadn’t noticed. I’m Aziraphale.”

“Right, yeah, you’re Gabe’s brother. I’m head boy,” Arthur said. “He’s a, uh. A friend.” There wasn’t much _feeling_ behind the way he’d said ‘friend.’ Aziraphale glanced around at the other students sitting at the table. They seemed perfectly nice. Gabriel had never really had anything _bad_ to say about Hufflepuff, but the idea that anyone in their family would wind up sorted there hadn’t come up in conversation. There was no protocol for this.

Well. No sense in being heartbroken. He might not have been in the same house with Crowley, but he wasn’t in _Slytherin_, at the very least. He sighed. Whatever he’d smelled earlier wasn’t on the table yet, but once the last student — “_Zwolinski, Brian!_” — and the headmaster started the feast, Aziraphale’s nerves were quickly settled, and he finally dug in.

* * *

Aziraphale artfully ducked under the arm of a third year making his way to the Hufflepuff dorm rooms to avoid Gabriel. He couldn’t afford to be distracted, he needed to pay attention to the way Arthur was knocking on the barrel just outside.

“It’s a carefully guarded secret,” Arthur said cheerfully, with the composure of a man who’d probably give away the secret after one too many butterbeers. “Now, first years, you’re just up the stairs! Boys on the left, girls on the right and _don’t run_—”

Ah, too late. Aziraphale was bounding up the stairs with his fellow first years, and he saw, at the foot of one of the beds, his old trunk, with his mother’s familiar stenciling across the top. He nearly wept with joy and fell onto the blankets.

_So this is home now_, he thought. _Home sweet home._

In the morning, Aziraphale woke early with everyone else and dressed in his new Hufflepuff robes and tie. He found he rather like the yellow and black, and was quite proud of the little badger stitched on. His house was also on his schedule, as he had all his classes with his fellow first years. Aziraphale quickly looked over it to see when he might have a class with the first year Slytherins, and was overjoyed to see it would be Herbology, just after lunch.

Of course he couldn’t avoid Gabriel forever, who was walking into the Great Hall for breakfast with Michael. He spotted Aziraphale and made a beeline for the Hufflepuff table.

“Gabe!” Arthur said, trying to seem happy to see him. “You grace us with your presence. What—”

“Need to talk to you, Aziraphale. _Now._” He grabbed Aziraphale’s elbow and pulled him away from a steaming plate of eggs and toast and beans and _oh_ — oh, he was so hungry. He was so hungry he _whined_, just as Gabriel snapped, “What happened last night?”

“I don’t _know_,” Azirphale said, pulling out of his grasp. “It’s not like I told it to put me here.”

“You must have said something, _thought_ something. I told you, think—”

“Gryffindor thoughts, yes I _know._ But what’s done is done, right? I can’t just go into a different house because you’re not happy. Uriel’s in Ravenclaw, what’s it matter?”

“It...it _doesn’t_, I just—” Gabriel paused. Narrowed his eyes. “Can we help you?”

Aziraphale turned, and Crowley was standing there, in his Slytherin robes. He gave Aziraphale a little wave. “I just, um. I wanted to talk to Aziraphale.”

“He’s busy.”

Aziraphale looked back at his brother and scowled. “I am _not_ busy. I was _trying_ to eat breakfast. This is Anthony, I met him on the train.”

Gabriel sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Knew I should have just had you sit with Michael.”

“We’ve uh, got Herbology together,” Crowley said, lifting the schedule with a grin. “Did you see?”

“I did, I looked straight away!”

“Me, too! And we’ve got Charms together, did you see?”

“I didn’t! Let me look—”

“Stop that!” Gabriel snapped. “I’m _trying_ to have a conversation with you, and I won’t be interrupted just so you and some _Slytherin_ can talk about _schedules_—”

Crowley’s entire face turned a terrible red color, almost as bright as his hair. He looked furious, and Aziraphale very much thought Gabriel was in danger of being _walloped_, but Crowley said and did nothing.

“Gabriel…”

“_This_ is exactly what I wanted to talk to you about. You’re in Hufflepuff, so your friends will be different, but you have to make the right _choices._ Friends will get you ahead, they’re the reason you’ll be prefect and head _boy_—”

“I never said I wanted that.”

“Of course you want that. You’re my brother, it’s only natural—”

“But I _don’t_ see why I can’t—”

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Crowley said, his face having gone back to his usual color. “Since you’re obviously busy deciding whether or not I’m good enough _friendship_ material.”

Aziraphale panicked. “Crowley, wait!”

“Whatever,” Crowley muttered, and went to the Slytherin table on the far side of the room.

Aziraphale turned to Gabriel. “He was my _friend._”

“You’ll make new ones,” Gabriel said. “Better ones.”

Aziraphale shoved him. “You _don’t_ get to decide that for me. I decide that. Just like I apparently decided to be in Hufflepuff. Whatever I did, it got me there. And you know what? I’m really glad! I’m glad, because I’d had to be stuck in Gryffindor tower listening to you brag about being head boy and the bloody _Quidditch_ captain all day!” He turned and went back to his table. Gabriel didn’t come back. Arthur put a hand on his shoulder.

“You alright there?”

“I’m fine,” Aziraphale muttered, and pushed his plate away.

He’d suddenly lost his appetite.

* * *

Aziraphale had been so _excited_ to see Crowley in Herbology, but the day _dragged._ He shuffled from class to class, completely distraught. He had Herbology after lunch, and Charms after that. And if Crowley never wanted to speak to him again, it would be the worst afternoon of his _life._ He was finally able to eat something at lunch, avoiding both Gabriel and Crowley, sitting next to Arthur who seemed to sympathize with him.

“My dad was dead set on me being a Ravenclaw, you know. Awfully disappointed when I wound up here. But he got over it! And you know, me being on the Quidditch team really helped, gave him a lot to look forward to. ‘Course we never get to the cup, you know. Bit put out by _that_, but.” He shrugged.

Aziraphale nodded. He wanted to go throw up, and pushed the rest of his lunch away.

By the time he made it down to the greenhouse, Aziraphale was trembling with nerves. He wanted so _much_ to apologize to Crowley, to tell him that he didn’t believe anything Gabriel said and that Crowley shouldn’t either. That he wanted to be his friend so badly, it was eating him up inside.

Crowley walked coolly past Aziraphale in the greenhouse. He didn’t respond when Aziraphale tried to get his attention, didn’t even look his way. Eventually, Aziraphale gave up, and spent the rest of class doodling storm clouds in his notebook. On the way out, though, Crowley stopped to put something in his bag, and Aziraphale took his chance.

“Crowley!” Crowley didn’t look at him. “Crowley, I’m _really_ sorry. Gabriel’s a prat, he had no right to say what he said—”

“Yeah, but he said it, didn’t he?” Crowley finally looked at Aziraphale. “And you know what? He’s right. My uncle’s no good, and neither am I. I’m just a Slytherin who isn’t _good enough_ to even look at your family, so why bother with me?”

“But I like you! I thought we were friends—”

“You’ll make new ones,” Crowley snarled. “Just like he said.”

“But I don’t...I don’t _want_ to make new ones. I _want _to be friends with you.”

Crowley shrugged. “Tough luck, Fell. See you in Charms.” He shouldered his bag and made his way up the hill toward the castle

Aziraphale swallowed and angrily brushed a tear from his cheek. _Fine_, he thought, _if that’s how it is_ —

“Well! I never really wanted to be your friend either!” he shouted.

Crowley stopped.

“I was just...just being _nice!_ On the train! I don’t care what you do! I don’t care at all!”

A few fourth years walking past looked at him strangely, but Aziraphale didn’t care. He waited until Crowley was moving back up the hill before going inside and, in Charms, he sat on the far side of the room. He didn’t spare Crowley a glance.

* * *

There were rules, of course, about being out of bed. Aziraphale knew them. He’d been home as a boy many times and seen his mother get the letters from his siblings’ heads of houses about them getting caught sneaking around. His mother typically disregarded these letters. So long as no one got hurt or expelled, she didn’t really care what they got up to. And so, his mother’s unspoken, tacit approval in mind, Aziraphale pulled on his sweater, slid his feet into his trainers, and stole away from the Hufflepuff dormitory.

Aziraphale had been doing quite well in Charms, and had mastered several spells already, to the delight of his Charms teacher. So when he said, “_Lumos!_” his wand lit up, and he grinned. _Excellent._

He didn’t have much reason for getting out of bed. There was a book in the library that Mr. Tyler had been guarding behind his desk all _week_ that Aziraphale was desperate to get a peek at. Other than that, this was really for the thrill of it. He was quite certain he could avoid Shadwell, and his grimy little orange tabby, Mr. Hopkins, but if a professor showed up, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. This would be much _easier_, of course, if he could turn invisible, but that hardly seemed like a challenge at all.

No, Aziraphale was quite certain he could do this, and he was going to do it —

“_Oi!_”

“_What! What are—_”

Aziraphale had walked right _into_ someone, someone he didn’t see over the glare of the light on the tip of his wand. Mostly because _their_ wand was glowing, too. “_Nox!_” he whispered and prepared to make a run for his dormitory, when he realized —

“Crowley?”

“Ah, bloody hell. _Nox_,” Crowley muttered, leaving the two of them in the dark.

“What are you _doing?_”

Moonlight fell through the windows above him, and Aziraphale could see Crowley’s scowl perfect. “Could ask you the same thing!” Crowley said.

“Well that’s none of your business.”

“Fine! None of yours either.” Crowley turned to keep going, but Aziraphale ran around in front of him. “Oh, would you just _leave me alone?_”

“Where are you going?”

“I told you, Fell, it’s _none_ of your business.”

“But I could _help_ you!”

Crowley sneered. “Help me, huh? Thought you weren’t interested in having anything to do with me. Thought you could be bothered to be anywhere _near_ me.”

“Maybe if we’re together we have a better chance—” Aziraphale froze. Something was _definitely_ moving between his legs, and, despite having only seen him from afar, he had a pretty good idea of who it was. He swallows. “That’s Mr. Hopkins, isn’t it?”

Crowley looked down. Back up. Pale as a sheet. “_Yeah._”

Aziraphale nodded. “_Run._”

They ran.

They _ran_ right into Shadwell, who held his lantern aloft and looked down at the ground where the two of them had fallen in a tangle of arms and legs, shoving each other out of the way.

“Move!”

“You move!”

“You’ve _stepped_ on me—”

“Well you stepped on me _first!_”

“Ay!” Shadwell knelt down. “Both of you. Shut it.”

Aziraphale stared. Honestly, he really should have seen this coming.

* * *

“Out of bed, _out of bed_,” Professor Nutter said. “Such a pity. It’s only the second month of classes and you’ve already lost both your houses twenty points each.” Aziraphale winced. “But! Points can be earned back.”

Professor Nutter was neither the head of Slytherin nor the head of Hufflepuff. She was the head of Ravenclaw, and the Deputy Headmistress. Professor Tracy and Professor Hastur stood behind her, looking equal parts annoyed, tired, and disappointed.

“Right,” Tracy said. She looked at Aziraphale. “This is _not_ behavior becoming of a Hufflepuff. I will be writing your mother first thing in the morning.”

“I’m very sorry, Professor Tracy.”

“Too right you are.” She shook her head. “I’m off to bed, Agnes. I’ll see _you_ tomorrow, Mr. Fell.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She sighed and wrapped her bathrobe tighter around herself. Professor Hastur still hadn’t said anything. Aziraphale didn’t know if he _would_ until he said quietly, “S’not any business of mine what he does for detention. Want me to write your uncle, boy?”

“He won’t care,” Crowley said.

“See that? Lucien doesn’t care.”

“_Lucien_ is not the problem here,” Professor Nutter said. Hastur waved her off.

“No skin off my nose. You gonna do it again, boy?”

“_No_, sir,” Crowley said. “Of _course_ not, sir. Wouldn’t _dream_ of it, sir.”

Hastur sneered. “I ought to write your uncle, just to let him know what a job he’s done raising a _worm_ like _you._”

Crowley shrugged. “Do what you like, professor. Doesn’t matter to me.” He turned to face Professor Nutter.

Hastur shook his head, muttering to himself before leaving Nutter’s office. Aziraphale wrinkled his nose. The man had a _very_ distinct odor.

Professor Nutter sighed. “Well. Mr. Shadwell has told me that the hallway outside the potions class needs some cleaning. Three night’s detention, starting tomorrow.” She sighed. “You’re both dismissed. And you best go _straight_ to your dormitories. No more wandering about, understood?”

“Yes, professor,” they both said, and quickly fled.

In the hall, Crowley turned to Aziraphale. “This is your fault.”

“_My_ fault? I was doing just _fine_ until you showed up!”

Crowley scowled. “And I was doing just fine until _you_ showed up!”

“Well, maybe we’re _both_ terrible at sneaking around.”

“Oh, don’t lump me in with _you._” Crowley shoved past him and moved toward the stairs that led to the Slytherin common room. “And don’t expect me to talk to you when we’ve got detention. You’re _not_ my friend and I _don’t_ like you.”

“Fine!” Aziraphale said. “The feeling is _mutual!_” He stomped away toward the Huffpluff common room, knocked on the barrel, and went inside. No one had noticed he was gone, and it was easy enough to slip into bed after toeing off his shoes. He turned and stared at the portrait that hung near him — a man on a horse who often looked at Aziraphale very sympathetically.

“Rough night?” he asked softly.

Aziraphale nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Something like that.”

* * *

“I can’t believe you got _detention_,” Gabriel said. “Have you _any_ idea how disappointing that is?”

“Look,” Michael said, wedging between the two of them. “Just because _you_ never got it doesn’t mean no one _else_ in our family hasn’t. I’ve gotten it loads of times.”

“Yes, because you’re _impossible to_—”

“I’m going to Herbology,” Aziraphale said loudly, and pushed past the two of them.

Herbology was absolute torture. Crowley wouldn’t even look at him, even though they’d be spending the next three nights scrubbing the _muck_ off the stone floor in front of Professor Hastur’s potion’s class. He’d walked past Aziraphale’s desk earlier that morning looking incredibly _smug_ about the whole thing. And reeking. The man just...just _reeked._

“Oi, _Fell_,” someone said. It was Moira, a nice girl who’d been sorted into Hufflepuff after him. “Issit true you snuck out and lost us twenty points last night?”

Aziraphale sputtered. “I—”

“That’s _wicked_,” she said. “I mean, it’s a shame about the points, but Nance over there scored a solid eighty in Charms this morning, so.”

“Right. Yes, I remember.”

“You’re a bad boy, aren’t you?” Moira asked, waggling her brows.

Aziraphale’s cheeks flushed. “_Hardly._ I was only—”

“_Enough_ chit-chat,” snapped their professor. “Please _focus_ on your seedlings.”

Aziraphale sighed. He most _certainly_ didn’t want to garner a reputation as a _bad boy_, or whatever that meant. After last night he was never sneaking out again. He was certain this detention would be the absolute worst thing he’d ever endured, and as he walked toward the dungeons that night, meeting up with Crowley and Shadwell, he was _sure_ that he was right about that.

“Used to string you kids up by your ankles in the dungeon,” Shadwell muttered. “Now you just _clean_ things and we all move on. _Bah!_” He lit a few of the sconces outside the potions classroom and handed them a few rags and a metal pail of water and soap. “Right. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

Crowley balked. “A few _hours?_ You expect this to take three nights?”

“S’not the cleanin’ that matters, boy. It’s the lesson learnin. Now. Get to it.” He turned and Mr. Hopkins trailed after him, mewling loudly.

Crowley threw his rag on the ground. “I cannot _believe_ I’m stuck doing this with you.”

“Well next time stay in bed, _genius._”

“I hate you,” Crowley snapped.

“I’m not overly fond of you _either_,” Aziraphale said. He dunked his rag in the pail and started cleaning.

Of course, after an hour he was so _bored_ even Crowley seemed like good company, so he asked, “What _were_ you doing out of bed anyway?”

“I told you,” Crowley muttered. “S’none of your business.”

Aziraphale sat up. His back ached from cleaning while bent over. “Look, we’re stuck doing this for two more hours. We may as well..._try_ and get along.”

“_Or!_ And just, consider this, Fell. You could _shut up_ and _leave me alone._”

Aziraphale continued. “I was going to the library. Tyler’s got this book stashed behind the desk he won’t let me look at and I’ve been trying to read it all _week._ Absolutely ridiculous, it’s a library!”

Crowley paused. “...Tyler’s a git.”

“He really _is._” Aziraphale continued scrubbing. “And you know something else? I think the restricted section is complete _nonsense._”

“Yeah?”

“Yes! Why should a book be restricted to me, just because I’m eleven?”

“Yeah, I mean, you _act_ like someone’s gran,” Crowley said. “I think it should be allowed based on how old you feel on the _inside._”

Aziraphale stopped. Crowley was _absolutely_ making fun of him, but for the _life_ of him, Aziraphale couldn’t help it — he _laughed._

He laughed and he laughed. He laughed until he couldn’t see through the tears and then, suddenly, Crowley was laughing, too. They had both completely lost control of themselves and fell against the wall on either side of the hallway, cackling and holding their stomachs. In a _fit_, Aziraphale took a handful of soap bubbles and tossed them right at Crowley’s head. They landed in his hair and he kept on laughing, throwing his wet, dirty rag in Aziraphale’s face.

They were breaking into little fits of it, still, when Shadwell came to fetch them at eleven. He seemed _very_ confused.

* * *

“M’uncle took me in when I was...five?” Crowley said. “Lived with my mum before that.”

“...Did she die?”

Crowley sighed. “Yeah. She died.”

“I’m very sad for you. My father died when I was six.”

“Weird age, right?” Aziraphale nodded. “Anyway, he took me in. He’s friends with Hastur. And Professor Ligur.”

“Must be strange.”

Crowley shrugged. “A bit.”

This was their last night of detention and, for some reason, Aziraphale didn’t want it to end. He felt, strangely, that after this, things would just go back to the way they’d been. He knew, of course, they couldn’t. Crowley felt like a friend again, and they’d apologized to one another the night before.

“Anyway.” Crowley tossed his rag into the pail. “He’s just not around a lot. If Hastur wrote to him, I doubt he even looked twice at it. He never writes, never sends anything.”

“Oh. That’s a shame.” Aziraphale’s mother had sent him a package yesterday, with a little note tucked inside that read, _keep out of the big trouble, love_, along with his favorite chocolates. “I could write to my mother. I’m sure she’d like to bake you something and send it along.”

Crowley’s cheeks flushed. “Don’t,” he said. “That’s too much trouble.”

Aziraphale nudged him with his shoulder. “It really wouldn’t be.”

Crowley looked at him sharply. “I—”

“Alright you two!” Shadwell was stomping down the hall. “Let’s see how it looks.”

Aziraphale didn’t think it looked that much different. He was quite certain Hastur was coming behind them each morning and making it _worse_, but Shadwell held his lantern over the stone floors and nodded.

“Marked improvement,” he announced, and jerked his head for them to follow. “Let’s go. Grab the bucket.”

Aziraphale scrambled to pick up the pail. He fell into step beside Crowley and said quietly, “Are we...friends again?”

Crowley glanced at him and grinned. “Yeah, Fell. We’re friends again.”

Aziraphale smiled. “That makes me happy. Also just call me Aziraphale, please.”

“_Aziraphale._” Crowley nodded. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Aziraphale looked down at his shoes as they walked up the stairs out of the dungeon. He was exhausted, he smelled of dungeon grime and _soap_ — but Crowley was his friend again.

And it was all completely worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @ weatheredlaw
> 
> also, a note about wands:  
aziraphae: fir, 11 and three-quarter inches, unicorn tail hair  
crowley: willow, 14 inches, dragonh heartstring


End file.
